33. Toby
Thirty-Three
Toby
I hadn’t had sex in a long time before Kingston and I first got together, had barely missed it, honestly, subsuming all those physical desires into painting and pining for my roommate-slash-friend-slash-landlord. But waking up a few inches from Kingston, both of us mostly naked, after having come and making him come hours earlier—it’s like I’m having a second adolescence, getting hard at a stiff wind and unable to focus on much of anything besides the next time I can have sex with my incredibly gorgeous man.
But when Kingston opens his eyes, he just says, “Good morning,” then slides out of bed to shuffle sleepily into the bathroom to clean up. He didn’t so much as touch me, and I have a rager of morning wood. Should I wait for him to come back and initiate sex? But Kingston’s a little older than me, and a lot more experienced. Maybe he’s not as eager for it as I am. Maybe he’ll find my enthusiasm annoying.
The water runs in the bathroom, so I get out of bed, go to my bathroom, and run the shower, cleaning myself up but not touching my persistent erection except to wash myself perfunctorily. I might feel like one, but I’m not actually a teenager. I can exhibit some self-control. My hard-on is mostly gone by the time I get dressed in comfortable clothes and head out to the kitchen.
Kingston’s there, also dressed in casual clothes, working the kettle and the coffee maker simultaneously. “Hey you,” he says warmly, and even if we’re not on the same page sex-wise, I’m still so happy that we’re together.
“Hey,” I say, unapologetically melty. “Sleep well?”
“Yes, actually. How was the wrong side of the bed?”
“I hardly noticed, now that you mention it. Consider me a left side person from now on.”
He hums his approval. “Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please. How much sleep did we get—six hours?”
“Something like that. I actually thought you’d still be in bed when I finished in the bathroom. I was hoping we’d try to go back to sleep. I already told my assistant I wouldn’t be checking in until later.”
“Oh! I thought you didn’t want—but we can go back to bed now,” I say hopefully.
“Yeah?” Kingston looks interested, so I step closer to him.
“I’m actually kind of desperate to spend more time in bed with you, sleeping and… doing other stuff. I just wasn’t sure you wanted to.”
“I want to,” Kingston says firmly. “And I think we need to talk about what we want and don’t want instead of making assumptions. Sound good?”
“Sounds very, very good. I want to have a lot of sex with you as soon as possible, please. Like, whatever you want to do is fine, but I’ve got a list, if you want to hear more about that.”
Kingston’s brown eyes turn nearly black as his pupils dilate at my words. “I very much want to hear about that. Maybe we should have coffee later?”
“Later, definitely.”
He turns off the machines, and we go back to the bedroom. Luna’s not around, so we close the door for some privacy.
We take off our clothes again, while Kingston demands I enumerate the list in my head.
“Well, there’s the usual. Blow jobs. Anal—I think I like to switch, even though I’ve only done it a couple of times, but I liked it. Ivy offered to peg me but?—”
“Let’s come back to that, shall we?” Kingston interjects. I may be jealous of the cat, but he’s definitely jealous of my ex.
“Toys,” I continue, “sixty-nining. Oh—and foreskin play. We should do that, since we can.”
I stop my little speech and drop my gaze to Kingston’s crotch and the distended fabric of his boxer briefs. As I watch, he slides the fabric over his hips, revealing the dark curls he keeps neatly trimmed, but not super short, and his mouthwatering package, not too small, not too big. Just exactly right.
“Not all at once, of course,” I say, my own cock filled and getting harder by the second as I shuck my boxers and get back into the still-warm sheets of our bed. “But just so you know what I’m looking forward to.”
“Good to know,” Kingston rasps, sliding in next to me, pulling the covers up over our shoulders. “I want to do all of that with you, honey. It’s tempting to clear my schedule for the next week and keep you in this bed.”
“Tied up?” I ask hopefully.
“For real?” he says skeptically.
“Well, like, for a little bit,” I say. “I honestly have never tried it, but I think I’d like it. You’d take care of me,” I add. “You always do.”
In answer, Kingston kisses me, pressing me down onto the mattress and his silky sheets. His hands are everywhere, his mouth hot and hard on mine, on my jaw, on my neck. “You are a surprise, Toby. I knew you had a lot going on underneath your pretty exterior. I didn’t realize it was so dirty.” He punctuates the last word by nipping my earlobe and sending a jolt of desire straight to my cock.
“I feel like I can be whoever I want to be with you,” I say breathlessly, as he licks the side of my neck. “Is that bad?”
He raises his head and looks at me, face serious. “It’s good. It’s very, very good.”
Kissing him is this blissful act that clears my head, puts me in touch with my body, in the way I want his weight on me, how his legs feel strong and muscular rubbing against mine, the undeniable eroticism of our dicks finding each other, the base pleasure of his skin touching mine. But not just anyone would make me feel like this. It’s Kingston, the way he caresses me like I’m something special, the way he knows his way around my body seemingly instinctively. He’s never pushy, driving me crazy with light grazes, ghosts of kisses, and I wriggle and squirm, so turned on I splay my legs open unashamedly, begging him to do something, anything, to make me come.
“You want me to make you come, honey?” he says, voice wickedly soft as he echoes my demands. His hand on my chest anchors me to the bed, otherwise I feel like I might float away on desire.
“Anything,” I whine. “Please, Kingston, I’m not kidding. I need?—”
“I know what you need,” he says, voice dark and low, and I shiver as he scoots down the bed, seals his mouth over the head of my cock. I let out a strangled shout, but he keeps me from bucking up with his hands on my hips, holding me down as he laves my erection, inching his way down the shaft. I can see his face, his mouth stretched around me, and I almost lose it at the gorgeously sexy picture that makes.
He cups my sac, tugging it the way I like it. How does he know to do that? Then he wriggles a hand beneath my balls, presses his thumb to my hole, and I’m gone, the merest suggestion of penetration making my eyes roll back in my head, come shooting out of me so hard I feel it in my abs. Maybe I should start working out more.
He stays on me, and I can’t tell if he’s swallowing or gathering my spend in his mouth. When I’m finally done and push at his shoulder, he releases me, turns, and spits into an empty water glass on his side table.
“Kingston, oh my fucking god.” My entire body feels like it’s been emptied out, wiped clean, like a fresh spring wind has come through and scoured me thoroughly.
“Is that what you needed?” he asks, somewhat smugly, as he settles back in the bed. He strokes his hard length almost lazily.
I turn on my side, touch his jaw to get him to look straight at me. “I need you ,” I say solemnly, willing him to understand. We’ve only been together for a short time, but even before he kissed me in the gallery, I never wanted to be anywhere but by his side. “I love you.”
Maybe it’s too soon, too spontaneous, too much. And maybe it’s not enough because those three words pale in comparison to the emotions bursting in my chest like overfull paint tubes.
He looks at me steadily, his calm friendly eyes reading me carefully. His mouth trembles and he stops touching himself. “How is that possible?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve been waiting my entire life for someone to need me, to want me, to love me, the way I want to be needed, wanted. Loved.” He takes a shaky breath. “And I can’t understand how it’s possible that it’s you. How did I get so lucky?”
My heart feels so good it hurts.
“You think you’re lucky to be with me? I’m so lucky I found you, Kingston. You captivated me, and then you became my friend. And I would have been good with only that. I swear I would.”
He sniffs—he’s not crying, but close. “Me too,” he says. “I would have been your friend forever, even if that’s all I could be.”
“You still can.” And then we kiss, both of us moving at the same instant, and it feels like a promise to keep kissing each other for the rest of our lives. When we eventually separate, I tell him, “I’ll always be your friend. And I’ll always love you.”
“You don’t know that,” he says, sniffing again. “But it sounds convincing.”
“I do know it,” I argue. “I never thought all that much about the future. I always lost myself in the current painting, the current challenge. But since I met you, all I can think is that my future will be all right if I get to be with you. I don’t need anything else.”
“I know what you need,” he says. “You need coffee, tea, toast. Your work. Luna. Ice cream!”
“Those are nice-to-haves,” I correct. “You’re my must-have, Kingston.”
“Fine, fine,” he says, apparently giving in to my stubbornness. “If you insist.”
“I do.” I kiss him again. “I insist upon loving you, the way you deserve to be loved, which is wholly, thoroughly, and often.” I put my hand on his now semi-hard dick and stroke it lightly.
“I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you,” he says, shocking me into stillness. “Don’t stop.”
“Sorry.” I resume stroking, his cock thickening up in my hand. “What do you mean the first time you saw me?”
“I saw you and I knew my life would never be the same. Of course, you were with someone else and so I thought I was doomed to a life of pining for someone I could never have.” He rubs his chest over his heart, as if remembering how much that hurt. I straddle him, nestling my soft cock against his hard one, then press a kiss to his heart and put my ear to his chest, listening to the reassuringly regular thump.
“You have me now,” I say to his chest.
“I’m still getting used to it.”
I lift my head and look at the man I love, who loves me back. That’s what he said, isn’t it? That he fell in love with me the first time he saw me? “So, you love me, then?”
He crushes me to him, wrapping his strong arms around my body and holding me tight. “I love you,” he whispers fiercely into my ear. “I love you, Toby. And I don’t need anything else, either.”
I hug him back, tight, because he’s right—how lucky are we that we found each other—friends, lovers, and both in this up to our eyeballs.
“What about books? Champagne? Luna?” I tease, rocking my hips until I can feel his stiff length along my perineum and crack.
“All nice-to-haves,” he says, “like blow jobs and coffee. I can live without them.”
“But it’s good that you don’t have to,” I say. “Not as long as I’m around.”
He lifts an eyebrow at me. “Oh, yeah?”
“Because I’m going to give you a blow job and then make you coffee. Not vouching for the quality of either—I haven’t blown anyone since, like, six Taylor Swift albums ago, not counting the re-recordings.”
He laughs. “You make great coffee. And honestly, with a mouth like yours, I don’t think you’re capable of a bad blow job.”
I lick my lips deliberately, purse them, then ask faux innocently, “What do you mean, a mouth like mine?”
Kingston takes my bait and calls my bluff. His eyes gleam, and he taps my bottom lip with the tip of his index finger. “I mean the kind of mouth that makes me hard just by looking at it. The kind of mouth that should have my cock in it as often as possible. The kind of mouth that can make anyone do anything. Your mouth is a superpower, Toby.” He kisses me briefly, hard. “Now use it to blow me.”
I chuckle and lower myself down, settling happily over his cock. I really don’t have a lot of experience with this, but I’ve seen plenty of porn, if that counts for anything. I start by playing with the head, licking the foreskin, reveling in the musky salty-sweet flavor, loving Kingston’s taste, his smell. It’s masculine and good and makes my mouth water and my cock pay attention.
I take more of him in my mouth, the velvety weight sliding pleasantly against my tongue, then glance up and am gratified to see Kingston’s eyes trained on me like he can’t look away. I want to do right by him, and I sink down his shaft as far as I can before my gag reflex is activated by his glans hitting my gullet.
“Easy, easy,” he croons as I pull off and cough. “Don’t hurt yourself, honey.”
I glare at him. “I’m fine.”
“You are that,” he says, looking over my shoulder, gaze settling on my naked ass. I twitch it back and forth and he grins. “But don’t overdo it.”
I don’t respond, just go back to work, fitting him in my mouth, getting comfortable with the weight and stretch. I hollow out my cheeks and actually suck, and he makes a noise, so I do it again. Then I remember I have hands I can get in on the action. I wrap one around the base of his shaft, the other I use to play with his balls a little, the way I like it. In response, he starts slowly thrusting, keeping his movements shallow, while I alternate licking and sucking.
“That’s it,” he says, his hands moving to my hair. The sensation of his hands on my head, his cock filling up my mouth, is so fucking erotic I’d be happy to stay this way forever, safe and surrounded by Kingston.
Some amount of blissful time passes this way. When I start feeling the ache in my jaw, I glance up again. Kingston’s looking down at me with so much tenderness it makes me crave his mouth on mine, but I have a job to finish.
I take more of him, until I think I might choke, then open my mouth wider and start jacking him into the back of my throat. The wet squelch of my hand on his cock and the head of it landing repeatedly in the wet cavern of my hot, open mouth has my cock pulse with the need to be touched but I leave it alone as Kingston mutters a string of curse words followed by, “Hot, so hot. Your mouth, hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You want me to come in your hot little mouth?”
I moan enthusiastically in response, and Kingston tightens his hand in my hair. The other’s squeezing my shoulder like he’s trying to leave a bruise, and I want that more than anything. I want him to mark me, because he can, because we’re in this together and he’s entitled to whatever he wants. It’s so fucking hot the way he’s gripping me and the way my jaw aches and how badly I want to taste him.
My own recently spent cock is straining against the sheets, which I’m practically humping as I keep jacking his cock. The first splash of seed on my tongue is so shocking I almost lose my rhythm, but I hold it together as Kingston unloads, coating the back of my throat. He’s panting and groaning, his eyes shut tight, and I take my hand off his cock, let it slide out of my mouth wetly, then I swallow everything he’s given me because I don’t have time for anything else. I flop over on my back, still swallowing, and touch myself, pumping my own length dry, feeling the echo of Kingston’s grip on my shoulder, in my hair. I need that grounding to get there.
I lick my lips, salty and hot, and beg, “Touch me, anywhere, please.” And then his big, strong, gentle hands are on my torso. “Harder.”
He pushes me into the bed, holding me down while I strip my cock in a blur, the orgasm bursting through me, out of me, all my cells singing in pleasure radiating from where Kingston’s hands are pressing me relentlessly into the bed. I vaguely register wetness on my belly, breathing too hard to care. Then Kingston’s above me, pressing me into the mattress not just with his hands but with his entire body, his lips on mine, kissing with the same desperation I’ve felt since the very first time.
“Toby,” he says between kisses. “Toby, how did you do that? You’re unbelievable.”
“Sorry, I just got really turned on,” I say, catching my breath.
“What the fuck are you apologizing for, honey?” He kisses me again. “What did I tell you? This mouth is your superpower.”
“Glad you liked it,” I say. “I saw it in a porno once and always wanted to try it.”
His chuckle is warm and deep. “You can try anything you want on me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” We lie there, halfway down the bed, naked and sticky, and I’m so happy I feel like I could cry. But I don’t, because there’s a scratching at the door, and a mournful meow from the other side.
“Your cat wants attention,” Kingston says, splaying his hand on my chest, making me feel owned in the best way possible.
“Our cat,” I correct. “She’s half yours now, mate.”
“Really?” It’s cute how excited he sounds about it.
“She and I are a package deal.”
“Excellent,” Kingston says. “Now, about that coffee you mentioned?”